


Lonely for You

by sunflowerseed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>uncomfy fic where Harry goes to the circus and is infatuated with an aerial dancer called Zayn. byeeeee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely for You

**Author's Note:**

> this is something I never got quite right. part of it i quite like and the other part i feel is somewhat stinted and uncomfortable. anyway i'm just putting it out there to see what people think. let me know if there is something i need to tag?

When Harry hears that the circus is in town he nearly goes ballistic. When he finds out it's at the O2, he begs Ben (who works in the marketing and communications sector of the arena and reaps the benefits of a pretty pay check and access to most amenities) to take him. When the two of them are sat on the ground level looking directly at the stage, Harry can’t stop the smile that’s pulling at his cheeks. 

The show is amazing. The music thrums through his bones as the performers flip and dive and dance and sing. Harry gets goose flesh when a bloke with amber skin winds himself up in two crimson strips of fabric, suspended from the ceiling, and moves with such finesse he’s a little envious. Ben tells him it’s called aerial dancing and Harry thinks it rivals pornography. 

His eyes follow him the rest of the way through. He's not in every act, but he turns up every so often: dark and enigmatic. When the entire cast comes out for their final bow, he's nowhere in sight, but Harry claps so hard his palms sting. People sometimes say he's too enthusiastic, he thinks that's ridiculous. 

The sound of all those thousands of people putting back on their coats and simultaneously chattering, is like a hundred thousand hornets nests buzzing to life, but Ben leans in close to be heard. ' I can get us back stage if you like.' He says, as if it's even a question. Harry just nods like an eager child being offered something sweet.

As is expected, Ben gets caught up in conversation with some stiff looking old man in a suit, and Harry’s quick to leave him.

He doesn't look for him really, although subconsciously maybe. It's a wonder that he finds him anyway; with all the cast, crew, and orchestra, there must be more than a hundred people in the main room backstage. He's folded on the floor in a far corner, smiling impishly at a pink haired girl with a thick bulls ring in her nose. 

Harry'd never been shy or anything like that. Not with anyone, no matter how pretty, or smart, but he feels it now. Maybe it’s the raw talent or the envy he felt because of it, but either way it’s rousing a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

' Hi.' It's the only thing he can think to say, usually this sort of thing comes way easier, and it probably sounds rather stupid, but the lad looks up and Harry’s heart beat quivers in his chest. 

' Hi-ya.' He’s even better to look at up close, all dark and handsome like.

Maybe he's imagining it, but Harry thinks the girl gives him a knowing look before she turns away from the two of them to talk to the lad on her other side. 

' Show was really great. You were brilliant.'

A smile splits the lads face and Harry smiles in return. 

' What's your name, babe?' His accent is estuary and Harry's a little surprised he’s English. He’s kind of surprised that he’s even from Earth, really. Surely someone that pretty must be extra terrestrial.

The bloke scoots over on the floor cushion beneath him and it's almost too easy for his wiry arms to pull Harry down beside him. 

'Harry.'

'Harreh' He repeats. ' M’ Zayn.'

Harry likes that, and he thinks he’s probably said it aloud because Zayn is smiling at him again.' You wanta drink, Harreh’?'

xx

Throughout the course of the night Harry ends up meeting a lot of interesting characters.The pink haired girl turns out to be an American acrobat named Ellen and a really sweet one at that. They make fast friends. Zayn is really buzzing at first. He’s talking loudly and gesticulating like a nutter, but he winds down after a few; smokes a cigarette he procures from behind his ear with a curiously limp wrist. 

He stubs the third one out on the bottom of his boot and sets off without a word. Harry watches him glide through the room. People drawing towards him: smiling, hugging, kissing. When Harry can’t see him anymore, he turns back to the group, and Ellen is watching him with those perceptive eyes again. ' Pretty isn’t he?'

' I mean… ' Harry barely knows her, but he’s itching to tell her that he thinks Zayn is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

' Don’t worry, everyones got a bit of a crush on Zayn. Honestly everyones got a bit of a crush on everyone.’

Harry thinks himself lucky when Zayn comes back with another of what Harry is drinking. He presses it into the boys waiting hand and tucks himself back against his side. 

' Here.' He says. ' I’ve drank far too much probably, and you’ve not drank nearly enough.'

Zayn’s right about being drunk. His words are settling closer together and his hand is musing aimlessly in the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry’s not complaining really, but it’s worsening that tight feeling buried in his belly. Although maybe that’s the point, cause when Harry shivers underneath his fingertips, Zayn looks at him with glassy eyes and a sleepy smile. ' Fancy a night cap with a carny?'

The hotel is close. When they get inside the warm lobby Harry challenges Zayn to a race up the fifteen flights to his room, and nearly wretches on the tenth platform. Zayn can hardly stop laughing, but then Harry kisses him, and it’s like all the air is sucked straight out of the lift.

Harry’s no stranger to one offs. He is, however, unaccustomed to the thoughts he’s having in this particular instance. His mind wont stop reeling. He wonders where in England Zayn is from, or what his favourite film is, or how he got into aerial dance. Zayn pulls back then, looks at Harry like he might not be real, and it’s almost like he reads his mind or something. ' Cats or dogs?'

' Huh?'

' Which do you prefer?'

' Um,’ The smile on Harry’s face hurts his cheeks. ‘ I like both.'

The lift doors open. ' If you had to choose.'

They fumble down the hall, arms wrapped around one another, Harry’s face squished to the side of Zayn’s head in thought. 

' Cats.' He decides as they come to a halt. ' Why?'

Zayn shifts his weight to his other foot and roots through his pocket for his key card. Once he finds it, he turns to look at Harry, and shakes his head in disapproval before opening the door. ' I knew it.'

' Whasthat’ mean?'

' Nothin’.' Zayn bumps their smiling mouths together as he crowds Harry up to the back of the door. ' Nothin t’all.'

' Why? You like dogs?'

' Yeah.'

' Hmmm, figures.' He means for it to be condescending, but it just comes out in a garble.

It’s really dark and Harry can just barely make out Zayn’s eyes. ' What’s your middle name?'

' Do you subject all your one offs to interviews?'

' No.'

' Edward. You?'

' Jawaad. Tattoos?'

' Look for yourself.' He ducks his head.

Zayn does; undresses him slow, gets Harry’s head in his mouth before he protests and presses Zayn back by the shoulder to look at him with weighted eye lids. ' I don’t- I want you to- yeah.'

' Right now?' Zayn asks, hand rested against Harry’s calf. ' We’ve got all night, babe.'

He pulls him up from the hardwood and takes him towards the bed. ' Now.'

Zayn’s not about to complain. 

Harry lapses under the duvet and watches him, still fully clothed, sifting through his holdall of over flowing clothes.

' I’m not at all flexible.' Harry says when Zayn strips off his kit and follows him into the bed. 'Jus’ so you know. Not like you probably are.'

Zayn bites back a grin and hums into his mouth. ' Not been doing your stretches, babe?'

Harry laughs at that. ' I did a yoga class once.'

He nips at Harry’s mouth and presses him over onto his stomach with a steady hand.  
' Don’t worry. M’ resilient enough for us both.' His breath is warm on the small of Harry’s back, but Zayn’s hand is cold against his bottom.

Harry’s not shy about being vocal. Twists his hands up in the sheets, and moans on about whatever the fuck Zayn is doing with his mouth. Zayn on the other hand doesn't say much; he runs a knuckle against Harry’s jaw, licks a line up his spine, makes a few indistinct satiated noises. They fit well though. 

Harry’s got to be in to work for ten, so he’s up first, and he makes a valiant effort in fighting the urge to stay. He allows himself half a beat to look at Zayn tangled up in the white sheets, sleeping with a disgruntled look on his face. He gathers his clothing from the carpet with dismay and can’t seem to find his pants, so takes a pair of hulk briefs from the top of Zayn’s bag and uses that as an excuse to leave his number on the bedside.

i’ve taken your hulk pants. dial 020 7946 0825 if you ever want to see them again.

xx

Harry’s finding it hard to stop thinking. He’s run rampant with thoughts of ink on skin and big brown eyes. It doesn’t help that his ass is sort of on fire either. He’s forced to sit on an incline, so not to irritate his bottom against his desk chair, and he’s sure his coworkers are giving him funny looks because of it. It’s half two and Zayn’s not yet texted or called, so Harry’s slightly worried that he might not even give two shits about his pants or Harry, but it just makes it that much sweeter when his phone gyrates loud against his desk.

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-09-14  
3:04pm  
you’ve effectively taken my lucky pants

From: Harry  
To: Zayn  
10-09-14  
3:06pm  
No worries. They’re in good hands!

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-09-14  
3:15pm  
come see me after the show tonight. return the hulk to his rightful owner.

From: Harry  
To: Zayn  
10-09-14  
3:16pm  
What will one man do for his lucky pants?

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-09-14  
3:20pm  
you can keep the pants, just bring yourself

After that, his day drags on like no other. He busies himself with drinking tea, doing paperwork, and talking the ear off of his favourite paralegal.

' Who's bed did you wake up in this morn then, you slag?' Lou says eyes flicking away from the document. She’s reading over an affidavit Harry had taken far too long to prepare.

' Heyyy, I’ll have you know, I slept peacefully in my own bed last night.'

' Oh yeah?'

' Mm no, slept with this right fit bloke from the show.'

She rests the booklet against her knee with a toothy grin. ' How fit?'

' Properly fit. God, so fit.'

' Just a one off like?'

' I dunno’ really. I’ll probably see him tonight. ' Will definitely see him tonight. ' So not really. More like a few off. I mean, I dunno’ how long he’s in the city, like, circus’ travel or something right?'

' He’s in the circus? Did you sleep with a clown?!'

' It’s not that type of circus, it’s like an acrobatic thing, but he’s gorgeous and charming and flexible, Lou, you’d be so sweet on him.'

She just laughs.

xx

They get caught late at work, so when they manage to finally leave the office, Harry’s happy as a lamb. He rides the tube arm in arm with Lou, big smile on his stupid face.

Zayn messages Harry as he circles the room for the second time. 

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-09-14  
8:38pm  
where are you?

' Hi there.' 

He glances away from the screen of his phone and sees Ellen, eyelashes caught in her fringe, looking up at Harry.

' Hello.'

She thrusts her plate of hors d’oeuvres towards him with a smile. ' Hungry?'

' Oh, no, thanks. How were the shows?'

' Good.' She surveys the room full of people and looks back at Harry with a teasing tilt of her mouth. ' Zayn’s probably in his shared dressing room if you’re looking.'

She’s right about that. Zayn’s sitting alone on the floor of the dressing room. One leg stretched out in front of him, phone rested on his opposing knee. He doesn’t even look up when the door opens or when Harry walks across the room to stand in front of him. He pushes Zayn’s head back with a hand in his hair and he looks not even slightly taken aback. 

' Hiii.' Zayn half sing songs, looking up at Harry with glossy eyes.

Harry’d done his fair share of uppers while at uni and he can tell Zayn’s really been in something. ' You alright?'

' Yeah.' He sighs and he smothers his face into Harry’s thigh.

' Right. What’ve you taken?' Harry asks as Zayn’s hands wander up to his pant button.

His mouth goes to Harry’s hip with a hum. ' You’re properly fit, mate.'

' Thanks.'

' Can I?' Zayn pulls at Harry’s dress trousers.

' I mean, are you-'

' I’m in my right mind, Harry.' 

He really is stronger than he looks. Tugs Harry to the floor between his legs like the first time, but a little more intimate, with their noses brushing in passing.

' There we are.' He mutters winding an apt arm around Harry’s neck for a brazen kiss. ' You smell of womens perfume.' 

' What do you care?'

It’s a terse moment before he says anything. ' ‘Don’t.'

' Right.'

' Right.'

It’s the second morning in a row that he wakes up in that hotel room. Zayn’s up this time, getting the door with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. Harry turns onto his stomach and curls his toes into the mattress with a strangled sigh and listens to the rattling of what sounds like a trolley.

' Morning.' Zayn says threading a gentle hand into the back of Harry’s hair.

' Hii.' He replies, turning his face to meet Zayn’s fingers with a fond cheek.

' Hungry?'

' Mm.' He lifts his head then, can see the handles of silver cloches, on what he assumes is the trolley he’d heard, at the end of bed. ' Oh. What’ve you gotten?'

' You were talking in your sleep about waffles, so…'

Harry’s heart kicks in his chest. Bloody hell, he thinks, bloody fucking hell. ' That’s nice of you, mate, but I reckon if you try and fulfill all my sleepy desires you’ll go bankrupt.'

' S’alright.' It’s so quiet Harry thinks for a moment maybe he’s just imagined it, but Zayn leans down close, and presses a kiss to Harry’s ear. ' Innit?'

xx

Work is becoming something Harry really can’t do these days. Not since he’s pining over one Zayn Malik. He reads and rereads and nothing seems to stick. None of the words work their way into his head, it’s already too filled up with the smell of smoke and pearly whites with a pink tongue pushed to the back of them. So he shuts his door, jogs on the spot and does twenty press ups in hopes it might snap him out of it, but still completely zones out while one of his coworkers is speaking to him. ( 'Harry? You alright?' 

Jean comes back into focus and Harry is marginally vexed by the way she’s looking as if she’s said something really long and important. ' Uh, sorry. Could you say that again? Sorry.'

' You alright, dear?'

' Yeah, sorry just a bit tired is all. What were you saying?')

His focus is restored when he gets a text just after 3 in the afternoon.

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-10-14  
3:13pm  
im sick of this hotel already

Harry realizes he doesn’t really know Zayn, but at the same time it feels like he sort of does. Like maybe the fact that he knows he likes dogs best or that he likes when Harry’s eager, is somehow telling of who he really is. 

From: Harry  
To: Zayn  
10-10-14  
3:20pm  
come to mine then

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-10-14  
3:21pm  
what

From: Harry  
To: Zayn  
10-10-14  
3:27pm  
Yeah, I mean, my flat’s a twenty minute tube ride from the O2 if that’s alright

From: Zayn  
To: Harry  
10-10-14  
3:35pm  
that’s fine  
are you sure?  
this isn’t weird?

From: Harry  
To: Zayn  
10-10-14  
3:38pm  
Yeah! I’m in my right mind, Zayn.

It’s what he had said to Harry the night before, sat there on the chilled concrete floor, fucked up on whatever, fucked up on the idea of feeling someway for a boy he barely knows at all.

xx

Zayn used to live in London, says he’s familiar with the tube routes. Harry’s a worry wart, and insists on meeting him. He tells Harry not to cause a fuss, he knows where he’s going, tells him he was raised right, wouldn’t dare talk to a stranger, but Harry can’t help himself. He’s strolling casually towards the station when Zayn texts that he’s just off the tube. He sees Zayn barely ten minutes later, looking small with the city all around him, eyes trained on the lit up signs across the street. Harry waves a long arm in the air and when Zayn sees him he smiles with a shake of his head.

' Didn’t I tell you? I’m not helpless you know.' His nose is all wrinkled up and Harry wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

They’ve turned to walk back in the direction of Harry’s flat. ' I know, but I’m relentless.'

Harry thinks of proposing another race up the steps, thinks he could redeem himself, but then thinks better of it.

Zayn gives Harry a sidelong glance straight in the door. ' This is not what I expected, if I’m honest.'

' What do you mean?'

' I dunno. Thought it’d be a right mess or summit.'

The flat looks nice and Harry’s actually quite proud of his work really. ' Well I picked up a bit, didn’t I? Only the best for you, mate.' He’s toeing off his shoes, and Zayn follows suit. ' Can I do you for a brew?'

Zayn hums in thought, walking around the main living space with a thoughtful gaze. 'Sure… Who’s this?' He’s looking at a framed picture on the mantle and Harry can hardly see from where he is in the kitchen, but he assumes anyway.

' Pretty girl, blurple hair?' He’s banging round in the kitchen, filling up the kettle and that.

' blurple?'

' Blue and purple.'

' Oh.' He can hear the smile in Zayn’s voice. ' Yeah, blurple.'

' That’s my older sister. Gemma.'

' Oh, cool. You close?'

' Yeah.' Harry’s taking out mugs. ' You can throw your rucksack in my room if you like. Bathroom’s in there too, if you want a shower or whatever.'

' Okay, thanks.'

Zayn does put his bag in Harry’s room, comes back out still looking around prudently. 

' How old’s she? Gemma, I mean.'

' She’s 29. Primary school teacher, just engaged actually. Some bloke I’ve never met, fancy that. We made a pact as kids we’d never be with someone the other didn't approve of. Guess that’s off.'

' Think she’d approve of a troubled carny kid?’

Harry feels the heat going up his neck and into his cheeks. He’d never been easily embarrassed, but that was rather easy if he’s being honest. 

‘ I think she’d like you.’ He says taking a peculiar interest in the state of his nails.

Zayn comes up and sits at the bar. ' My sisters would have a fit if I ever tried to give my opinion on any of their lads.'

' How old are they?'

Zayn stares blankly at Harry.

' You don’t know? That’s awful.'

' Saf is like ten, Wa is probably sixteen, and Don’s in her twenties. I dunno’. They’re all mad anyway. Going home is constant controversy.'

' When was the last time you saw them?'

' We had a break a couple months ago. '

' How much longer are you on the road then?'

' ‘Few months.'

The kettle whines and Harry tends to it quickly. ' Do you enjoy it? The traveling? The work and that.' He pours hot water over their stagnant tea bags.

' It’s good fun. Been doing it since I was 19. Might be wearing on me a bit.'

' What would you do otherwise?' The cups clank against the counter and Harry slides one across the island into Zayn’s palm. ' You’re probably one of them, good at anything, aren’t you?'

' Nah, I’m really not.' He says into the steaming brown liquid.

Harry leans a cheek on his palm. ' I don’t believe you. You’re good at dancing, and acrobatics, and sex, and looking like you do.'

' Stop, you’re making me blush and I really can’t dance in real life.' Zayn murmurs sarcastically wiping at his brow. ' Do you like what you do?'

' Yeah, it’s tough sometimes, but it’s fulfilling.'

' What’s that?'

' Oh, I’m an attorney, have I never told you that?'

Zayn shakes his head. ' Attorney. You’re so young though.'

' It’s my second year at the firm. I’m twenty-four. Withering away, me.'

' Right.'

' Yeah.'

As terribly cliched as it is it’s almost like they’re magnets; poles with opposite properties, inching slowly towards one another. They don’t even realize the way they’ve both been leaning in across the island until they’re breaths apart. 

Zayn’s eyelashes are too long. Harry wonders how they don’t get in the way of things; how they don’t get tangled together when he blinks. Zayn glances at Harry’s lips and wonders something along the same lines. ' You need a shower?'

Shower sex is probably Harry’s favourite thing, or maybe it’s just Zayn’s cock that’s his favourite thing. Mostly he just likes being handled. He’s clumsy, so it’s good that Zayn guides him with solid hands, without any inhibitions; regardless of the fact that Harry’s a little bit broader, a little taller. Zayn folds their fingers together against the shower wall and presses his smile into Harry’s shoulder. 

They make their grand exit when the water runs cold, the both of them slap happy, and Zayn heavy against Harry’s side. It’s something he says half asleep, facing Harry, mouth soft, eyes shut (‘ We just fit don’t we?’). Harry feels warm all over, can’t help but pull the duvet tighter around them, and snuff his mug against Zayn’s collar. Usually it’s a little awkward with someone new, not that that’s bad, but it’s true, and it’s seemingly absent between the two of them. They’ve only just met, but it doesn’t feel that way really.

xx

Harry loves waking up with the sun on his skin, and he loves waking snuggled up to a warm body even more. He doesn’t mind the mouthful of black hair he gets, or the dead arm caught under a heavy head. Said warm body, however, apparently does not enjoy waking up with the sun in his face and instead rouses with squinted eyes and a tepid scowl, croaking ‘No’ like an old man shaking his fist at a kid walking on his lawn, and Harry laughs. Laughs harder than he probably should and tears a little.

' No.' Zayn grumbles again, trying to roll out of the lights path, away from Harry and out of his arms.

He lets him go and busies himself with looking out the window instead. The sky looks like something off an advert; clear, blue, and perfect. London hadn’t seen the sun in quite some time.

A garbled variation of Harry’s name sounds from where Zayn is crumpled into a ball and Harry looks over as he reaches blindly behind him to catch Harry’s arm and pull him close. 

His cheek falls against the tattoo on the back of Zayn’s neck. ' Heyy.' 

' You bit me.'

' What?' Harry props himself up on an elbow to try and get a better look at Zayn’s face, but doesn’t manage. 

' In your sleep. You bit me.'

' No… Did I really?'

Zayn turns his head. ' Yeh, fuck. You did.' There are pillow creases on his cheek. ' It’s not funny.'

Harry laughs anyway, holds tightly to Zayn’s hand. ' Sorry.'

' It hurt! Dreamt I was bein’ bit by a zombie and woke up with you dribblin’ on me shoulder.' Zayn looks at him with contempt, from the corner of his eye.

' Like hard? Is there a mark?' Harry pulls him onto his back and looks across his chest.

Zayn looks too, tilting his chin towards his shoulder. ' Don’t think so. Are you, like, a vampire? You can tell me.'

Harry doesn’t reply, just bites him again, on the neck this time, playfully this time, arms all around him so he can’t get away this time.

Zayn groans and thrashes a little. ' Noo.' His hands push against Harry’s chest all to no avail. ' Haven’t you had enoughh?'

Harry pulls back to lick where he’d bitten. ' You taste of haribo.'

' Do I?'

' You do.' He hums. ' I’m hungry.'

' You’re sick.'

They eat at Harry’s favourite breakfast place up the road. Zayn spits water on Harry when he tells him about his first time at thirteen. They haven’t much time once they’re back in the flat, so they share a platonic shower and dress in a rush. Zayn leaves with all of his things, but Harry tells him to come back, and he does. Of course he does. He goes pliant in Harry’s arms as soon as he comes in the door that night, tired, rightfully so, on a five day streak of rehearsals and shows ten hours a day. Zayn doesn’t complain though, not a single word is said of being tired, but he leans, and sways, and folds into Harry like a paper doll; says he’d like to stand in the shower for eternity, so long as it stayed hot, says that he’d love to sleep for a decade, so long as he were next to Harry. Incidentally, Zayn combines the two, and falls asleep in the bath. Harry’s with him in there, babbling about something or other, playing with the pale pink froth of bubbles. He tilts his head back to look at Zayn when he stops responding, but his eyes are shut, and his chin is low and Harry’s heart does that thing again, where it bangs against his chest or whatever. He presses himself more tightly to Zayn’s chest so he doesn’t slide down below the ledge, and stays there until the water goes cold.

He manages both their weirdly pruned bodies into bed and Zayn hooks a damp leg over Harry’s waist with a sigh. ' Donbiteme.'

xx

Zayn thinks lazy days are the best days. They’ve both got the day off. They spend it curled around one another, bundled up in too big trackies and heavy blankets, on the couch, eating junk, and watching senseless telly. Harry sometimes has trouble keeping still, but Zayn’s presence subdues that part of him. He melts into the divot of Harry’s arm and presses their palms together with a massive yawn. That day goes by so fast. The good days usually do though don’t they?

Harry tries to remember every detail: How he laughed, how many slices of pizza he’d eaten, how many times he’d pressed his mouth to Harry’s palm, how many times Zayn drifted off into sleep; breath going deep, eyelashes casting shadows down the planes of his face. How Zayn had told him he was leaving the next morning, how Harry’d automatically stiffened under him, forced himself to relax, said 'oh' like it was some sort of revelation that Zayn wasn’t to stay. How he kissed him, like maybe he’d never kiss him again. How he never once asked him to stay or come back.

The next morning is fuzzy. He can remember cold hands on his hips, mumbled words, a kiss probably, and the door clicking shut. Just like that. Easier than anything. Except not really. They text sometimes. Little catch ups. ‘Everything’s good’, except not really. That’s just what Harry says. Mostly he just feels sad. Lou looks at him with pity a lot, when he’s not looking, and sometimes right to his face. He feels like he could sit in the shower and cry about love lost, or whatever. He probably does once or twice. Rolls himself in his bedding like a burrito and snivels like a school boy afterwards. Calls Zayn when he’s had a few, not sure exactly what to say. ('What’re you doing?'

' Was’jus sleepin.'

' Sorry. I just- I dunno- wanted to hear your voice maybe.'

' That’s alright, babe. Are you good? Like you’re home?'

' Yeah.'

' Harry?'

' Yeah?'

' What’re you thinkin?'

' I’d like for you to be here really.'

' Yeah?'

Harry hums down the phone. )

Ellen texts Harry a month after they’ve left. 

From: Elle  
To: Harry  
11-14-14  
10:02am  
do you have like a magic penis or something  
youve ruined our boy z

Harry’s ears go hot and he lays his head against his desk. It’s good to hear he’s not the only one going mad, but it also makes him feel awful.

From: Harry  
To: Elle  
11-14-14  
10:10am  
he’s ruined ME  
From: Elle  
To: Harry  
11-14-14  
10:14am  
how do you ven get so deep over the course of a week

From: Harry  
To: Elle  
11-14-14  
10:20am  
I don’t know bt i want him here

From: Elle  
To: Harry  
11-14-14  
10:27am  
think he wants to be there too  
think you two wld be good  
u should go for it

From: Harry  
To: Elle  
11-14-14  
10:30am  
yeah he jst scares me sometimes

From: Elle  
To: Harry  
11-14-14  
10:33am  
i’d bet you scare him too

Harry thinks about that. Stores it away in the archives. ‘Bet you scare him too’. 

He can’t imagine why Zayn would ever be afraid of him. Harry’s about as scary as a cupcake. Zayn though. Zayn’s got these eyes. Eyes that see through all the extra bits, eyes that know exactly what Harry’s thinking. He’s probably afraid of what he feels for Zayn more than anything though. When his heart does that stupid thing in his chest and Zayn takes him by the back of the neck like he can hear it too. Harry’s never been joined up with someone like that. Not anyone. So it’s the understatement of the year that Harry’s ‘afraid’. He’s terrified. Terrified that he’s known the bloke for not even a week, and now he’s away, Harry feels muddled and raw. Frightened that he’s got empty spaces in his flat that he’d never realized were empty before Zayn was there. Including the fact his shower is too fucking big, and his bed, and his couch. His flat doesn’t smell enough like smoke and spice either, so there’s that too.

It’s not two weeks later that Lou reaches peek sympathy and tells Harry what’s what. 

' I’m sick of your stupid love sick face, you know?' She’s standing in front of his office door holding a bright green duo-tang. Harry looks at her with solemn eyes. 'Let’s go for a drink. You need to stop thinking so hard, c’mon.'

They have a good time for the first time in a while. They dance like nutters and ward off any come ons for one another. Lou can hold her liquor, but Harry’s liver is not as resilient, so she guides his exceptionally drunk ass home, and crashes into the bed next to him without a word. Harry wakes up to the feel of hair tickling his mouth and a static buzzing in his arm, so it makes sense that he murmurs Zayn’s name before his eyes are open enough to see that it isn’t black hair and chestnut skin, but Lou, in all her fair glory. She shifts against his arm and rolls onto her back with her phone in her hands to look at him wearily. ' You are so loved up.'

Harry blinks. Feels the cry caught in his throat. Decides to not say anything, cause it’d probably break on the way out anyway. It’s all very terribly cliched in that way.

' You need to say something to him, Harry. You need to let him now that when he’s done being a clown you want to see him. Don’t you want to see his face? I know I fucking do with the way you describe him. You know he really can’t be as pretty as you say he is right?'

He croaks out a laugh. ' Well he is.'

' Then get your phone out. Come on then.'

Harry takes an eternity to retrieve his phone from his trousers balled up next to the bed, but as soon as the phone is in arms reach, Lou snags it, and navigates their conversation with an apt thumb. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking at their messages. They’d not done anything naughty, but her mouth is pinched to the side like an annoyed librarian. 

' Wow.' She says lowering the phone to look at him. ' The lot of you are right passive aren’t you? Since when Styles?'

He half shrugs, taking a peculiar interest in the state of his finger nails. 

' Jesus. I’m the captain now, love. I’ll have it sorted.'

' Lou…'

' Don’t worry. I know you. I know what the real Harry would say. This one’s just gotten you a little confused hasn’t he? Being loved up and what not?'

He lets her, because she does know him, and she’s right about Harry letting Zayn’s passiveness rub off onto him. Right in the way that with anyone else he’d have called them and told them exactly what was banging around in his head and in his chest and wherever else. 

He tries to peek at what she’s writing and she pulls away. ' Trust me, you slag. I’m your best mate.'

Harry closes his eyes and takes a prolonged breath. ' Trusting. Trusting. Trusting. Trusting.' He chants with folded arms. ' Trusting. Trusting. Trusting.'

' Shut up, Harold.' But she’s not typing anymore and Harry’s itching to know what she’s said. ' Well would you look at that. How quickly your love respondth.'

' What’d he say?'

' Says he misses you too. Fancy that.' She’s typing again, faster this time, manic grin splayed across her face.

Harry wishes that all this stupid pre-amble would end and he could curl his talons into Zayn and never let go.

' Wow. Cryptic that.' Lou glances at Harry and back to the phone. ' Says he’s thinking about taking a bath, but doesn’t know if he should, since there’s no one to keep an eye in case he falls asleep and drowns. Okay…? what’s that supposed to mean?'

Harry’s smiling from ear to ear and hugging a pillow to his chest tighter than anything. ' Tell him that he can come back here and bathe whenever he likes.'

Lou raises a keen brow, taps at the screen, and they wait for his reply in complacent silence.' Says not to tempt him.'

' Christ.' Harry chokes out. ' Give me that.' He takes the phone from Lou and glazes through the conversation. ' It’s too early for this shit. Let’s go eat, come on.'

Harry wants to fuck Zayn in a bathtub. Harry wants Zayn to fuck him in a bathtub. Harry wants to drown in his fucking bathtub. He thinks that for weeks. They continue on passively, less so maybe, but they never quite talk about what’s after. Ellen tells Harry they’ve a month and a half left. Says Harry should stop playing the cowardly lion and tell Zayn he’d like to see him again afterwards. Harry’s sat on the tube when he sees two boys kissing and his heart nearly bursts. He calls Zayn straight off the tube and it’s not him who answers. ' Hello?'

' Hi-ya, Zayn there?'

' No sorry. Zayn’s in hospital. Who’s this?'

Harry’s heart does something weird and fluttery against his ribs. ' Hospital?'

' Oh, yeah, sorry, did something to his wrist in rehearsal, forgot his phone here. Can I, like, take a message? I dunno, he’ll probably be back soon anyway. You could call back in a bit, couldn’t you?'

' Yeah, course. Thanks, mate.'

Harry goes about his day wondering how Zayn’s doing. He’s laying in bed watching The Great British Bake Off when his phone lights up with his name across the screen.

' What’s happened?'

Zayn sounds tired and slightly despondent. ' M’fine. Just messed up my wrist in rehearsal or whatever.'

' Oh… So what now?'

' Yeah, I’m headed home in the morning.'

' Bradford?'

' Yeah. Won’t be able to do the rest of the shows. Reg is replacing me in the act.'

' That’s too bad.'

' Nah, s’all right. Early holidays innit?'

' Uh, get well soon then I guess.'

' Yeah, thanks, babe.’

They ring off and all Harry has to do is imagine Zayn at home, all poorly, with his mum tending after him, before he’s back on the phone, bottom lip caught between his fingers.

' Yeah, babe?'

' Hey, it’s Harry.'

' Yeah, I have caller ID, Harreh’.'

' Oh, well, like I just wanted to let you know that you’re welcome at mine, if ever you want to come out to London, or I mean I’d like for you to, after you’re home for a bit, you should come here, like, be with me, or whatever. That’d be cool right? Is this weird? am I over stepping? I dunno, but I think you should, cause like… you’re properly fit and cool and I want you here, so yeah. I’ve just said far too much haven’t I? Sound like a nutter probably, but my flats lonely, I’m lonely, and I wasn’t before you were here, so I think I’m just lonely for you… Yeah, anyway…’

Harry thinks Zayn is laughing, what with the static sound coming through the phone. 

'… Is it cool if I come to London straight away? Is that alright?'

' God, yes. Please do.'

' Okay. I’ll change my ticket.'

' Let me know when you’ll be in. I can meet you at the station.'

' Don’t you have work?'

' Yeah, but-'

' Go to work. I can make it to your place just fine. Leave a key under the mat or summit.'

' I haven’t got a mat. I’m skipping out on work to retrieve you, so that’s that.'

' Fine. Sleep well.'

' Yeah, you too.'

Zayn oversleeps and misses his train, makes it to London just after dinner time. He looks tired still, deep crimson moons under his eyes, and fluffy unkempt hair all over the place. Harry smiles at him so hard his cheeks hurt, and he bounds at him with such excitement Zayn can’t help but grin too. It’s nearly dark out but they don’t even make it to the flat without stopping up in a darkened alleyway to have the brick wall bite into Harry’s shoulder blades. 

' Missed you.' Zayn mutters, mouth chapped against Harry’s cheek.

His voice is rough and Harry’s heart does that thing. That thing he thinks it’ll probably never stop doing at this point. ' Yeah? Careful of your-' His palm is soft against the splint on Zayn's wrist.

' Yeah, yeah.'

Harry cuddles up to Zayn’s back that night with an overwhelming feeling of calm in his belly. At some point in the week, Zayn mentions looking for a flat and Harry doesn’t say a thing; keeps on fiddling with the kettle, until Zayn carries on talking about something else. He doesn’t bring it up again and when Harry finds a months worth rent on the kitchen counter one morning, his heart nearly bursts out of his chest. ( 'What’s this?' Harry asks poking his head in the bathroom door, money folded into his palm.

Zayn’s half dressed in front of the sink, toothbrush in hand. ' Oh… I just thought I should pay my stay… or whatever.'

' Sooo what you’re saying is you’ve found a flat?' 

He stuffs his toothbrush back into his mouth with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. ' Guess so. Funny that.')

Harry finds things that aren’t his, tucked into every crevice of his flat. Don Quixote between his law textbooks on the shelf, a pack of cigarettes crushed between the coach cushions, clothes that fit a tiny bit too snug in the shoulders to be Harry’s, in his dresser and both closets. At some point Harry’s flat becomes their flat. When Zayn calls Harry at work to ask if he can put an easel in their bedroom it nearly wrecks him. (' Our bedroom…' Harry repeats down the phone with an all over fluttery feeling.

' Sorry, are you busy, babe? We can talk later, yeah?' Zayn’s voice goes far away, like he’s in the toilet or something.

' No, no. That’s great, I think. Of course you can put an easel in the bedroom. Yeah, yeah. Course, love.')

And when he comes home that night Zayn is sitting barefoot in front of the easel in their bedroom, headphones blaring loud enough Harry can hear it when he walks in the door. Zayn doesn’t hear Harry though, too caught up in Frank Ocean’s voice blaring through his headphones, and Harry thinks that’s probably the moment when he realizes that he’s got a home. A place where he belongs, and maybe that place isn’t their flat, maybe it’s just Zayn.


End file.
